


Care

by carryingstarlightinherwake



Category: NieR: Automata (Video Game)
Genre: #drakenierexchange2020, (mentioned) - Freeform, 2B and 9S are best friends, Canon-Typical Violence, Family Fluff, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, Gift Exchange, Pascal is good robot uncle, Reading Aloud, some surprise margalit for all you philosophy fans out there
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 21:20:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,042
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25193065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carryingstarlightinherwake/pseuds/carryingstarlightinherwake
Summary: For the #drakenierexchange2020 (Snow in Summer Exchange 2020), for @glouptidoo on Twit! I hope you enjoy it!Pascal reads some philosophy to his robot children, and 2B and 9S ponder how to best attempt to define philosophy to a bunch of children. Wholesome content with a tiny bit of canon-compliant violence in the flashback. 9S and 2B are best friends in this fic. Wholesome.
Relationships: 2B & 9S (NieR: Automata), Pascal & Robot Children
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	Care

**Author's Note:**

  * For [glouptidoo](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=glouptidoo).



> Prompt I received: "Cute fluffy content with the Machine Children & Uncle Pascal is my FAVORITE THING EVER!"
> 
> Ask and you shall receive! Enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to shrinkingvioletwriter and Raeolu for betaing! <3

It was a lovely, temperate summer day in Pascal’s village. The children had spent the day playing, the merchants and mechanics had begun work on maintenance for their living spaces, and, as the sun was halfway across the sky, it was time for Pascal’s favorite pastime with his young followers: Storytime. Resting atop a turned-over box beneath one of the gargantuan trees that grew through his village’s meager space, he held an artefact in his hands; human philosopher Avishai Margalit’s  _ The Ethics of Memory.  _ This philosophy book was one of his favorites, and a work that profoundly impacted how he acted out pacifism. So, while he normally regaled them with something a bit lighter, he figured that the least he could do was share this work, which was formative for him, with the children.  _ His _ children.  Granted, in a literal sense, they weren’t really  _ his  _ children. Machine Lifeforms could not reproduce as humans had, but they were his children all the same.  So, with the breeze gently tickling the pages of this ancient tome as it rested in his metallic hands, he began to read:

_ “ _ _ Modern shared memory is located between the push and pull of two poles: history and myth. By myth I do not mean just false beliefs about the past, which are invested with symbolic meaning and charged with powerful emotion. And by history I do not mean mere plausible beliefs about the past, which are cold and critical. By locating memory between history and myth I do not just mean that memory is torn between seeking truth and seeking “noble” lies.” _

Pascal paused, surrounded by rapt silence on the part of the Machine children. He took another look at this book he’d chosen, and realized that perhaps they were not confused, but… computing. Since they were severed from the Machine network— _ all  _ of them—what would have been easy to cross-reference and glean extra information about was absolutely impossible to pass for these machines, these machines programmed to be children for the rest of their lives. Perpetually young. Hopefully maturing, of course; maybe leaving the Aliens’ network would allow them to grow beyond their programming.

With some philosophy once a day, a Machine could hope.

Throwing his gaze up from the book, he saw two figures in black sitting in the back, thin and tall in comparison to the mechanical children who surrounded them like a small, rusted ocean. 2B and 9S, YoRHa Allies Extraordinaire, had decided to join today—2B reluctantly, and 9S, a bit less so. After all, they were all in the area, running a general check, and bringing news from YoRHa Headquarters. The distrust the two had initially had in him was lessened, by this point; while not necessarily  _ friends, per se,  _ they were, at the very least, friendlier. In Pascal’s eyes, that was a large leap from the Machine-phobic attitudes the two showed on their first visit.

His kids liked them, too. 2B was stoic, unflappable; in other words, perfect to talk  _ at  _ and not be teased for it. She would just nod along as the kids spoke, which they ate up. While 9S, meanwhile, made the occasional Machine-phobic slip-up—if 2B was beloved for her silent grace, he was her polar opposite—talking a bit  _ too  _ much. The kids loved that too. 9S still tried his best. He played a decent amount with the youngest of them, and engaged in minor hacking games with the rambunctious teenagers.

These two androids, in a way, felt like Pascal’s kids as well, regardless of their species. Or, more pressingly for his village, the fact that they were soldiers, programmed to kill. Specifically, programmed to kill  _ his  _ kind, Machine Lifeforms. Still, they were actively not killing him, nor his villagers, so the truce seemed to be working. Seeing how young they were, however, he couldn’t help but compare the two Androids to his own “children,” and was struck by a chilling thought: Pascal hoped his kids never would have to kill.

After all, not that the YoRHa Androids were stupid,  _ per se, _ but his kids were smart; smart enough, he hoped, to not have to deal with violence. Smart enough to work out a compromise between Androids and Machines. 

Still, no matter how smart they were, maybe some philosophy  _ vis-a-vis _ was a bit  _ too  _ intense for these young ‘bots... which seemed to be the case. One of the children—a small, rust-covered dear with wires imitating hair jutting from his head—raised his claw-like hand. “Uncle Pascal, I don’t understand any of what that means.”

“Me either!” Another chimed in, to which a couple of others nodded, their little heads making a squeaking noise as they did so. Seemed as if they needed some oil.

The others nodded and chirped in agreement. Pascal, meanwhile, eyed them all with a bit of embarrassment. He, admittedly, wasn’t entirely sure how to explain it to them, either! 

“Ah, I’m glad you asked!” Pascal said. “Here, let’s pause, and talk a bit more about that.”

There had to be a way he could turn this around.  _ Had  _ to be a way…! Then, it hit him: Might as well use their special guests, right?

“2B and 9S. Thank you for joining us for storytime.” Pascal pointed a hooked hand their way. “You’re both programmed to read complex data, right? Could you explain what that means?”

The two Androids nodded; 2B, curtly, and 9S with a thumbs-up. After their mission helping the Big Sister and the Little Sister, they were wearing matching ribbons, which had been gifted to them by the two Machines—blue for 2B, and pink for 9S. It did really seal the “sibling vibe” Pascal got from the two of them. It also made them far less intimidating for the young Lifeforms, who, normally, were absolutely terrified of Androids.

“I cannot adequately explain,” 2B said. “I am not programmed to have expertise in philosophy. I am merely a battle Android.”

Pascal, sometimes hearing 9S and 2B’s conversations, knew that was bull, but he decided to let it slide.

9S seemed to think the same. “Merely?” He chimed in with a smirk.

“Merely.” She shot a glare his way. The young man gasped, cowered a bit, and the child-robots let out peals of light, mechanical laughter.

“However, 9S is programmed with a bit more… Intellectual flexibility than I am. Perhaps he can aid you.” 2B’s voice carried the slightest hint of a chuckle upon it.

“Uh. Uh…” 9S stammered a bit. The young robots all turned their fluorescent eyes to him, their hopes boring into his soul. Turning a shade of red, he took a breath, surveyed the crowd around him, and then decided on: “History and myth… are… important.”

Silence.

“I’m used to reading this kind of thing and analyzing it. However,  _ explaining  _ it? Not my forte.”

“...And…?” Pascal prompted.

“...They’re not that different after all…?” 9S shrugged. “Look, I’m sorry, Pascal, I don’t find anything wrong with the wording, and I don’t want to dumb it down to your kids, since they’re not stupid.” At that, the Machine Lifeform children seemed to smile; not that the Android could tell from their mouthless faces. “Saying a lot, considering they’re machines.”

“Well, we’re not on the mainframe, so we’re not like the others!” One jumped in, waving a small, well-loved plush Machine in xeir hands, and  _ completely  _ missing 9S’ unintentional Machine-phobia. “You think we’re smart, Mr. 9S?” Xe moved toward him—this Machine Child with a partially-rusted head—and practically jumped with glee.

“Oh, uh—Of course, lil’ fella! Pascal teaches you all well. Isn’t that right, 2B?”

2B’s mouth quirked into the barest of smiles. “Roger that.”

The small robots surrounding the two Androids clapped, a tinny noise resounding through the meadow in which they sat, underneath the dappled light filtering through the leaves of a willow tree. While that  _ was  _ sweet, did they answer the question? Not really, honestly.

“...9S and 2B, thank you for your input. Perhaps we could ask your Pods for their thoughts?” Pascal asked, gesturing to 042 and 153. 042 adjusted 2B’s bow, which had gone askance. and 153 hovered around 9S’ head, seemingly brimming with excitement at  _ something.  _

“Analysis: We cannot take orders from Machines.” 042 responded, his voice deep and tinny. He paused, as if to shoot a look 153’s way.

“Fine then. Pod, please explain what Pascal said to the children.” 9S asked, gesturing to 153, his personal Pod unit.

“Request granted.” At that, she floated herself over to Pascal, explaining, “Analysis: This quote is from the great human philosopher Avishai Margalit’s  _ The Ethics of Memory,  _ dated to 2002 AD.”

At that, the children cooed, gasping in awe at this relic of human civilization. How cool…!

Pascal nodded, holding up the gold-emblazoned, cloth-bound tome, which had that information clearly available. Luckily, most of these children couldn’t read the languages of the humans; they could only read the runes that were around their lands, which were commonly called “Chaos Glyphs.” Not that they would know that.

Pod 042 picked up where 153 has left off:  _ “ _ Analysis: While there is much nuance within this quote, and much has been excised, what Margalit seems to be saying is that, as 9S stated, myth and history are not as different as one may believe.”

“Analysis: The difference comes in how they are both aspects of  _ shared memory,  _ with one being thought of as  _ ideal— _ myth _ ,  _ and the other being thought of as  _ fact— _ history _.  _ However, that which is ‘fact’ is left to be defined by whoever survives in the world, _ ”  _ 153 chimed in, levitating over to 042. The two of them seemed to be engaged in a sort of duet, their parts overlapping, but never overpowering. It was impressive, frankly.

“In short, fact and myth are defined by whoever is the most powerful.” At that, 042 seemed to shrug, as if that were also something that was taken for granted. For the YoRHa units, it likely  _ was.  _ But for his children? It was not. Not in the slightest.

“Definition:  _ Shared Memory  _ is the collective, community-based idea of memory, whether it is tragedy, or joy,” 153 explained, lightly giving one of the small children, who had held out their hand, a high-five. They let out a gleeful, robotic laugh. “It is also, more specifically, based on what humans would have called ‘caring.’”

042 took the verbal baton. “Status: Clarification achieved.”

At that, the Pods gave each other a small high-five, then returned to their respective owners' sides. 2B nodded in thanks toward her Pod. 9S, meanwhile, gave 153 a small fistpump.

“Now, children, let’s thank Mr. 9S and Mrs. 2B for their help.” Pascal gestured. “Also, thank you to their Pods.”

A small chorus of tinny “ _ Thank you” _ s ricocheted through the air as 9S and 2B both bashfully blushed.

Without a moment to pause, however, the same robot child with the scraggly wire hair raised his hand, wiggling in his seat in excitement about his question: “Uncle Pascal, what does it mean to care?”

“To care.” This concept meant quite a bit to Pascal. _Explaining_ “caring” was hard, but _feeling_ “caring” was far easier; after all, his entire _life,_ after he’d stopped fighting, had “caring” as the main tenet for everything he did.

Memories cascaded over Pascal—those of the broken children, the ones who were scarred by battle, the ones who had seen sights no child should ever see. To his comrades, whose light left their mechanical eyes as Androids, clad in their black, frilly dresses and swords larger than their bodies, stood with his friends’ mechanical heads on the tip of their spears.

Pascal used to feel anger at these angels of death. Now, he just felt grief—not just for the friends he had lost, but for the Androids as well, fighting this meaningless battle. After all, they had lost their friends, too. There was no winner; there never would be. Eventually, his comrades in metallic arms had had enough.

He thought of the robots who walked off of the battlefield, white flags waving, and trekked to this abandoned spot; a nook within the overgrown forest, off the grid. These mechanical souls unknowingly built over what was once Tokyo, one of the most vibrant cities in the human world; the place where the end of humanity began. They cut themselves off the mainframe, and, defying direct orders, escaped. Pascal and his ken brought new, electric life to this place, to this broken world.

These pacifist Machines, taking in strays and fixing up broken individuals, created this small town on their own. Waving their white flag, they stayed, and they persevered. They built. Soon, a small community formed, with small family units, and small traditions—one of them being storytime each day. While the Androids would likely argue otherwise… They all loved each other. That was enough, wasn’t it? Pascal then understood what caring was. Well, at least, for him.

To care was to love.

Pascal, shutting the book once more, got up, hobbling his way over to the children, and walking into their small crowd, beckoning them all. “To care, my children, is to want to look out for others. It is wanting to be with friends and family, to want to do things with them. And that, most importantly, is what it means to care. To care, my children, is to love.”

“Does that mean you love us, Uncle Pascal?” A tiny, red-painted Lifeform asked, her fluorescent-light eyes shining gold. She seemed to bore directly into his soul.

Without even a pause: “Of course I do, dear.” He patted her head, which created a light  _ clang.  _ “I love each and every one of you.”

“We love you, Uncle Pascal!” They said in almost-unison, the stragglers making the sentiment all the more adorable. 9S and 2B, meanwhile, smiled, while also, somewhat awe-struck, saying nothing.

“All right, thank you, children! Now, it’s time to go play. I have to go do some work. Say thank you to our guests!”

“Thank you, Mr. 9S and Ms. 2B!” With another childish chorus and some assorted waves, the kids were off. After the children had vacated the premises, Pascal let out a sigh, and moved to 9S and 2B.

“Thank you for your help today. Will we see you again soon?”

2B nodded. “Our next mission is in the City Ruins, so we will likely return within the week. Is that sufficient?”

“Of course. You both are always welcome. Thank you for helping me keep my townspeople—my  _ children,  _ especially—safe.” If Pascal could physically smile, he would have done so. Still, the sentiment was clearly communicated in that alto voice of his.

“It is no problem. 9S, we should be going. Next mission is time-sensitive.” 2B turned to her friend. Then, with a nod, she moved forward, her high-heeled boots clicking against the creaking wood of the bridge leading out of the village.

9S dutifully followed, turning to Pascal as he walked backward: “Thanks again, Pascal. We will see you soon.” Then, returning to face 2B, who had already made  _ considerable  _ headway, the young Android  _ shrieked:  _ “Oi! 2B! Slow down, will ya?! This is a two-person mission!”

“It will be one if you don’t move quickly enough,” Pascal heard 2B say, a bit of a smirk hidden in her tone. Some light obscenities trailed behind 9S as Pascal watched them leave yet again, fading into the trees and the greenery. With that, and with a warm feeling in his core, Pascal returned to work, walking up the steps to his makeshift hut, waving to all of the villagers he ran into along the way.

This was his home, and he was happy here. What else could he ask for?

* * *

As they left the village, 2B and 9S walked in silence, after the initial banter had subsided. Leaping from platform to platform, 9S and 2B parkoured their way through their surroundings, eventually leaving the forest, and entering the City Ruins. Vines snaked their way around the Androids’ feet, and the two were careful to not trip.

Eventually, something that had been nagging at 9S bubbled to the surface. Voice haltering, he managed, after quite a bit of thought: “2B… Do you think those Machines really love each other?”

“You know YoRHa’s official stance on the matter. Machines cannot feel.” This was all she said, yet the way her voice hitched when she said it made it seem like she was merely repeating the official thoughts, and not actually agreeing with it. There was a newfound hesitation there. At least, that was how 9S read it.

He nodded. “I know. But…” He shook his head, then came up to a river. The platinum-blond waded in, the pristine water going up to his shins, covering his boots and knee-highs. 9S looked at his reflection, the pink bow that the sister Machines had given him standing out prominently against the monochrome of his uniform. “I’m starting to doubt that more and more. You know… Doubting that those are just echoes of Alien programming, or them imitating humans.”

2B stood beside him, clad in the other sister’s bow; a delicate sky blue number, tied to her black YoRHa-issue headband. If one wouldn’t have known better, the two of them easily could have been siblings. Not that they  _ weren’t,  _ with the way they got along, but…

2B’s eyes, barely visible beneath her translucent black visor, seemed to train on her reflection as well. Virtuous Contract, her katana, glowed in the radiant sun, making the two Androids seem to glow with light. She said nothing. However, after a long moment, she only said: “Come, 9S. We have a mission to do.” 2B went on. With that, 9S, lollygagging once again, bolted after her, and began to chatter about human history, as usual.

The two Androids, Machine Sisters’ bows bouncing on their heads, began walking towards the ruins of humanity. Their Pods whirred dutifully behind them. 9S and 2B went forward, eyes behind their visors and weapons at their backs, ready to face whatever came their way. However, unlike before, they had something new in their arsenal: The thought of Pascal and his children, lessening the weight of their duty upon their hearts. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! I hope you all enjoyed this fic. It's been a long time since I wrote some Automata, but writing it was like coming back home. <3 In the meantime, if you are curious about why I chose Margalit? Well, I was going to have him talk about the idea of a "moral witness", but uh... That's more for an angst fic than a wholesome fluff fic. (lol)
> 
> Still, if you want to read the text Pascal is reading, [here's the PDF!](http://clest.pl/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/TheEthicsofMemory.pdf) ~~not sure how legal that link is, but hey, go for glory lol~~ It's definitely worth checking out if you like ethics and philosophy. I'm an English PhD student, so it isn't my area of expertise (that's fandom studies and trauma studies), but [this page did a great job of explaining it](https://www.iwm.at/publications/5-junior-visiting-fellows-conferences/vol-xxv/avishai-margalits-idea-of-an-ethics-of-memory/) better than I could, so I borrowed a bit from it for the Pods' explanation to fill in the blanks of my own explanation. He was going to be quoting Jacques Lacan, but uh... I figured that was WAYYY too heady anyway. So. I hope you all enjoyed the fic! Check out the other [@starsinherwake](https://twitter.com/hashtag/drakenierexchange2020?src=hashtag_click>works%20posted%20on%20Twitter%20for%20the%20exchange,</a>%20feel%20free%20to%20drop%20by%20my%20Twitter%20\(%20<a%20href=) ), drop a comment and a like, and thanks for dropping by!


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